“Good,” Judge Frankenstein said. The force of his voice surprised me, and I looked up to find him glaring intently at me over the papers I recognized from Monsieur Clerval. Victor’s father stretched his lips beneath his mustache into an imitation of a smile. “That is good.”

I fought the urge to recoil from the patently false expression. Was that how I looked when I pretended at happiness? No. I had far more practice than he did. And his smile was underwritten with desperation. It was the look of a street performer, hopeful and enthusiastic on the surface, patiently calculating beneath.

Did he think Victor would petition Henry about discharging our debts? Henry had fled the continent to get away from us. He would certainly do us no such favors. Or perhaps Judge Frankenstein thought Victor’s return would allow him to consult with his son on how best to eliminate the household’s only immediately disposable excess—myself.

He had no idea I had already won. Victor’s return would forever seal my fate and keep me safe from Judge Frankenstein’s harm. I returned his smile, and we spent the rest of the meal in miserable silence, companions in lies and deception, trapped forever under the same roof.

I had won indeed.

Chapter Thirteen: That All This Good of Evil Shall Produce

“WE SHOULD HAVE A party to celebrate Victor’s return!” Justine said, leaning over William to help him with his letters. “Excellent! If you turn that E the other way, it is perfect! You are so smart.”

Ernest, lounging on a nearby sofa reading a book about Swiss military victories, looked up. His thin lips turned down in a pout. “I would much prefer a party celebrating whenever he decides to leave again.”

“Ernest!” Justine said. She communicated so much reproach with a single word that he flinched, abashed.

“It has been two years.” I drummed my fingers against the mantel where I leaned by the cold fireplace. “Surely you can barely remember him!” It was early May, three weeks since we had left Ingolstadt. I had in my pocket a brief letter from Victor, who would arrive in one week. He had been true to his word. Perhaps when he was home I would feel less unsettled.

I thought I saw movement outside the nursery window. I rushed to look, but I was mistaken. It was just the blackened and tortured remains of that tree long ago destroyed by lightning. Why they had never torn it out, I did not understand. Something about it now struck me as obscene. It was like leaving a corpse as a monument.

“Do you think I am bigger than him now?” Ernest stood and threw back his shoulders.

“Than he,” I absently corrected him. “And no.”